21 Years
by The Pending
Summary: The Olivers are pretty much accepted as the worst. Parents. EVER, but it can't have been easy for them. What's it like raising your son when you've sold his soul before he was born? A series of 5 looks into the Oliver house, as they raise their son.


_5 weeks pregnant_

...

Linda's hands are shaking when she comes out of the bathroom with the pregnancy test, and John Oliver doesn't have to take a look to know what it says but he snatches the little white thing away from her anyway. The little pink '+' stands out on the white field like the mark of the beast.

"I don't—I just don't know how this could have happened." Linda stutters, "it's got to be a mistake. The test, it's got to be wrong!" She looks up at him with a frightened, hopeful look, but John knows there's no point in indulging in that lie.

"You've been sick for the last two weeks," he reminds her quietly, "always in the mornings."

"But it's got to be a mistake!" She says hysterically, "It can't happen! We can't—_you _can't! The doctor said so!"

"I know what the doctor said!" Mr. Oliver shouts in response, and his wife bursts into tears. It has an instantly sobering effect; reminding him how his wife has spent the last year taking care of her dying husband. He's got to take care of her now. "Oh Linda, I'm sorry." He holds out his arms and she immediately steps into them, though she hasn't stopped crying. "We'll get this straightened out. There's just got to be some mistake."

"What if it's not?" She asks, her voice frightened, "What if… What if he made this happen?"

"Then we'll deal with it." John Oliver tells her in his most reassuring, executive tone. "The important thing is that we're together, and we're going to get through this just fine."

--

_6 months pregnant_

...

Linda has a smile frozen on her face; quite a feat considering she's holding his hand in a white knuckle grip while the nurse coos over the ultrasound, pointing out little features. John is half there and half in the courtroom, where their suit against the Doctor who told them they couldn't conceive is being wrapped up around the same time. It wasn't that he was entirely unsympathetic to the way the Doctor had lied to make a deal with the Devil… How could he be, considering a similar, maybe even worse deal was the only reason he was still alive? But this was America, and 'under God' or not, if someone ruins your life you sue the pants off them.

The gynecologist (highly recommended) smiles in a warm, rehearsed way, and says "Looks like you've got a healthy baby boy on the way, Mr. And Mrs. Oliver."

"Is there… Anything wrong with him?" The gynecologist breaks out of his practiced routine and he looks up from the chart to Mrs. Oliver in surprise.

"I'm sorry?" Linda smiles sweetly, but nervously, and John puts his hand over hers in a quiet gesture of support.

"If there's something wrong with the baby, would you be able to see it?"

The Doctor sighs sympathetically, and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Mrs. Oliver, I know how scary it can be, especially with the first child. Let me reassure you, we're running all the proper tests, and your family medical history makes it very unlikely that your baby will have any sort of genetic disorder."

"What about physical deformities?" Linda asks determinedly.

The Doctor shakes his head, "While it's hard to say, the ultrasound has so far shown a perfectly normal child." His beeper goes off, and with a glance down at it and a quick 'if you'll excuse me' he leaves them with the nurse. So Linda turns to the nurse, who smiles comfortingly in return.

"You've had a friend or family member who had something scary, huh? I know just how you feel." The nurse leans in, and lowers her voice to a more gossipy level, "My cousin — poor girl — she and her fiancé had a baby with a sixth toe; nothing they did! It just happens sometimes. But they fix that before the baby even leaves the hospital. You've got nothing to worry about." Her voice lowers a little more. "But you know, if you tell me what's got you so scared, I can try and make sure on the ultrasound that it's not there."

Linda glances back at her husband, who simply pats her hand reassuringly, before she turns back to the nurse.

"Can you see if he has horns?" The nurse's eyes go wide.

"Horns?"

"Or a tail?"

_--_

_3 weeks old_

...

The baby's crying sounds tinny through the baby monitor as Linda automatically rolls out of bed and pulls on her robe. It only took a few days for their new schedule (the one that revolves around Sam) to become habit. They're receiving all the good natured sympathy new parents get, though they never tell people what a thrill it is to have a perfectly normal baby. In fact, it's somewhat odd to hear him crying; little Sam has proved to be such an easy-going baby that even at just three weeks he's already sleeping through the night.

It isn't until Linda steps into the room that she sees the dark figure standing over the crib, expensive suit barely reflecting the soft glow of the nightlight. It's a face she knows too well that's grinning down into her baby's crib. "Oh c'mon, Sammy." He laughs, as the infant's crying gets louder, "Don't be that way." He looks up at her, flashing that same teasing grin, "I don't think he likes me."

"W-w-what are you doing here?" She asks breathlessly, her hand holding the front of her robe in a death grip. He just laughs in response.

"Oh, I know. I shouldn't, but I just couldn't help myself." He reaches into the crib, and Linda takes an involuntary step forward, suddenly terrified he'll take her son from her right here, right now. He lifts Sam out of the crib, holding him like a proud uncle, "I just love babies, you know? So innocent." Linda isn't sure how she finds the courage to make it all the way across the room, but she's suddenly there, holding out petrified arms, and with a final laugh the Devil hands the still-crying infant over to her. She holds Sam close, rocking him as gently as she can, and the crying stops as he curls a tiny hand in the familiar material of her robe. The Devil just chuckles as he observes this, "Why, it's almost as if he knows about it."

"Of course not," Mrs. Oliver answers in a frightened tone of voice, then rather pleadingly adds, "He's just a baby."

"Oh, Linda! Don't be so serious!" He laughs again, "I was just kidding around. Of course he doesn't know… And I've actually been thinking: I'd like to keep it that way." Linda looks up from her son with cautious relief.

"Is that why you're here?"

"I know it isn't part of our deal, per say," The Devil smiles a friendly, used-car salesman grin at her. "But I've just been thinking about it lately, and I just think it'd be best if you didn't bring our little deal up with Sammy here. I mean," his smile shifts into a heartbroken, compassionate expression, "what a terrible burden to have to bear! I know it must be positively agonizing for you and your husband, but think about poor, little Sammy; living his whole life knowing that his parents have already sold it away." Mrs. Oliver swallowed hard and looked down. "I just think it would be for the best," the Devil finished with a sympathetic smile, "don't you?" Linda nods stiffly.

"We won't tell him until you do." She answers quietly, receiving a radiant grin in response and a pat on the cheek.

"That's my girl!"

--

_6 years old_

...

"There's my big boy!" Mrs. Oliver crouched down to give her son a hug as he stepped off the bus. "How was your first day of school?"

"It was okay," Sam tells her shyly, "I guess."

"It was GREAT!" Mrs. Oliver turned her head and smiled at the little boy with wild hair and chocolate smeared on his shirt standing next to her son. "The school bus hit mean old Missus Tomkins!"

Emily can feel her eyes go wide. "Wh-what?" Sam pats her face with a small hand.

"It's okay mommy." He glares at the other boy, "Nobody else got hurt."

"The bell rang and we all went outside and Missus Tomkins was in the street yelling and then WHAM!" The boy exclaims, clearly thrilled, and Mrs. Oliver has to take a deep breath before she's able to smile her usual 'of course I'm not upset' smile. It's gotten disturbingly easier over the years.

"Berty, why don't you go play in the back yard? Your mom will be coming to pick you up later. I just want to talk to Sam for a minute."

Bert Wysocki frowns, looking between a quiet Sam and Mrs. Oliver. "Sam isn't in trouble, is he? Cause he wasn't in trouble at school—anybody who tells you that's a liar. A big liar, 'cause Sam didn't get in any—"

"So-ock!" Sam whines. "Quit it! I told you it was a secret!"

"I didn't say anything!" Sock whines back, then leans close and whispers seriously, "You gotta trust me Sammy; I'm older, I know how to handle it."

"Handle what?" Mrs. Oliver asks, still smiling, though with a hard undercurrent to her tone. Sam and Bert both stare at her, before Bert mutters 'gotta go' and runs off towards the backyard. Sam's glare follows him, but Linda keeps her expression stern as she puts her hands on her son's shoulders.

"Sammy, what happened at school?"

Sam looks up at her, and his face twists up like it does when he's about to cry. "It wasn't even my fault!"

"What wasn't your fault?" She asks patiently.

"Missus Tomkins hated me, and I didn't even do anything!"

Linda sighs, brushing back Sammy's hair from his face. "It's okay honey, you can tell me what happened."

Sam takes a deep breath and rubs his eyes. "She kept giving me funny looks, and grabbing her necklace and touching her forehead and stuff. And all I did was spill my juice, but she took me to the principal's office!" Sam's voice starts to quiver again. "I heard her saying that she din't want me in her class."

Linda does her best to keep her expression neutral, and the waver out of her voice. "What happened next sweetie?"

Sam sniffs in response. "I didn't wanna stay there anymore, so I went outside to where the bus was s'posed to come and waited there."

Mrs. Oliver frowns at her son, "Sam Oliver! I told you not to wait at the bus stop by yourself, you were supposed to wait with Bert!"

Sam just blinks at her in surprise. "I din't wait by myself—there was a nice man there, and told him I'm not s'posed to talk to strangers, but he said he wasn't, and he knew all about me and you and daddy and the family password, so it was okay, right?"

Linda does her best to smile around the sinking feeling she's just gotten. "Of-of course. Sammy, what did he looks like?"

Sam frowns thoughtfully before answering. "He was old, and wearing a suit, like granpa."

"Did he… Say anything to you?"

Sam shakes his head. "No, but he talked a lot. And he smiled a lot too, but he seemed kinda angry. He said he din't like Missus Tomkins, and he was going to fix things so I shouldn't worry." Sam looks down. "Then Missus Tomkins came out of the school, and she was yelling at me for leaving… She was coming across the street when the bus hit her."

Sam looks up at her sadly. "I'm sorry mommy." Linda wraps her arms around him and hugs Sam maybe a little too tightly.

"It's okay, honey." She tells him as she blinks back tears. "It wasn't your fault."

--

_10 years old_

...

"Sam? Sam, your mom's bringing out the cake!" Mr. Oliver steps into the backyard and freezes. A slick-looking man in an immaculate black pinstriped suit is crouched down next to Sam, pointing as Sam stares determinedly through the cross-hairs of a brand new BB gun. Before he can even pull himself together, the man whispers "Now" and Sam pulls the trigger. There's a shallow bang, a pained screech, followed by the thump of a small, furry body falling from the tree to the ground.

"I got it!" Sam shouts victoriously, and the Devil laughs as he rises to his feet, patting the boy on the back.

"You sure did, Sammy! That was some fine shooting." He looks up at Mr. Oliver with a proud grin, "The boy's a damn good shot!"

Finally noticing him, Sam runs excitedly up to his father, "Dad! Dad! Did you see!?" Mr. Oliver swallows, his gaze drawn to the body of the dead squirrel lying on the well-trimmed lawn, then frowns down at his son.

"For heaven's sake Sam, you could have hurt yourself!" He grabs the BB gun away from the dismayed 10 year-old. "No guns! Not in this house, not ever!" Sam stares up at him for a moment, lower lip trembling, before running off; back towards the house and the front yard where his birthday party is still carrying on.

Feeling eyes burning into the side of his head, Mr. Oliver turns back to meet the Devil's displeased glare. "It wouldn't kill you to encourage him at something." Mr. Oliver clenches his fists around the small rifle, trying to summon up as much courage as he can. He's angry, but more scared than anything and trying not to show it.

"What are you doing here?"

The Devil smiles innocently, "Just checking up on my investment."

"Well, he's not yours." Mr. Oliver snaps, "You don't have anything to do with him until he's 21!"

The Devil takes a step back, holding up his hands placating, "Whoa, whoa, John! There's no need to get all testy about it." He flashes that salesman grin that makes John sick to his stomach, "What's so wrong with me dropping in a few times? After all I've done for your family? I'm not such a bad friend to have around, John."

"I don't care," John Oliver tells him in response. "We've already gotten everything we need from you, and you've already gotten everything you want from us." He holds the BB gun out. "You don't have anything to do with Sam, not until he's 21; that was the deal."

The Devil glares at him in response before finally snatching the gun away. "_Fine._" He hisses. "Have it your way." The BB gun disappears into thin air as he turns to go, radiating displeasure. John Oliver holds in a sigh of relief, just as the Devil looks back. "You know you ought to encourage him to get into some sports, it'd be good for the kid. Teach him some discipline. He just needs a little bit of a push, and he'd stick with it."

"He's my son," John answers determinedly, "not yours." The Devil just laughs in response.

"Only for 11 more years, John." The Devil grins, flashing a mouth full of white teeth, "Then, he's mine."

--

_THE END_


End file.
